Blog Archive

A parenting expert I’m not. Still, I do have three kids and many crazy stories and half-baked opinions about parents and kids and the importance of snacks and the efficacy of bribery. All of which explains why I’m now writing a column for Reuters called (wait for it) “Family Life” (I objected to the super-plain title—what about “Super Awesome Parent Stuff?” or “Goofy Fun Dad”? until it was explained to me that other Reuters columns are called “The Stock Market” and “Personal Finance.” Oh.) Over past three months I’ve written about over-the-top kiddie birthday parties, the art of the “playdate dump” and the time a hippy pediatrician tasted my wife’s breast milk. I’m archiving the stories on my author site here.

I’m doing a presentation this week at the FUSE: Design & Culture Conference with my friend and colleague Bill Goodwin. We’ll be talking about “the rejuvenile aesthetic,” our fancy-pants phraseology for the cartoony, kiddie, whimsical, playful culture that now pops up everywhere from Web 2.0 font design to modern architecture to auto styling… I’ll also hang out to sign books and stalk my fellow presenter, Malcolm Gladwell… I’m on Tuesday April 15 at 2 pm. Registration and other info here.

Long before social critics began fretting over “the death of the grown up,” marketers were tracking focus group findings on the quickly shifting values, affinities and loyalties of adult consumers (remember the “retro brand” craze of 2001, which relaunched everything from Converse to Radio Flyer?).

Given this early jump and expertise, you’d expect campaigns aimed at rejuveniles to be knowing, or at least reasonably on-target. But the sad fact is that, with few exceptions, ads aimed at rejuveniles evoke cringes, eye rolls and heavy sighs in the very people they’re designed to reach. A few manage to find a way to cleverly capture their fears and aspirations. But the vast majority fall horribly flat, either by regurgitating tired old clich’s about childish adults or mistaking garden-variety nostalgia or rebellion for rejuvenile’s complicated but ultimately hopeful natures.

Take the current ad for Oreos Candy Bites, which features a power-suited professional looking out the window of a cab at women blowing bubbles, jumping rope and playing hopscotch. Clearly responding to research showing more adults than ever gravitating toward a brand that has always been associated with kids, Oreo can think of nothing more to say than how wacky and unusual it is. Thus we get women playing hopscotch in heels in the Oreo ad, or worse, businessmen pogo-sticking and hula-hooping in Nestle Crunch’s egregious ?For the Kid in You? campaign, which reduced the entire rejuvenile phenomenon down to bubbles and hopscotch.

This is just the sort of cluelessness that causes conniptions in rejuveniles. They may appear silly, but make no mistake: rejuveniles can’t stand being pandered to. They hate seeing themselves represented as starry-eyed goofballs. Never mind that many of them — focus groups, many will admit that they felt goofy and starry-eyed the first time they wore a Cocoa Puffs cuckoo bird T-shirt or took a spin on their kid’s tricycle. But the novelty has long since worn off. They’re now either doing those things entirely unselfconsciously, in which case these ads seem hopelessly unhip, or they’ve moved on to another kid centric activity (like assembling Lego spacecraft, or collecting American Girl dolls).

The point is simple: aim at the starting point of a moving target and you’ll miss every time. To keep pace with rejuveniles, you’re better off ignoring surfaces and creating associations with shared values, like their need to stay playful in the face of adult responsibilities, or their impulse to buck the forces of conformity and routine, or their belief that adults are inventing a more flexible, open-ended version of maturity.

Listen to sociologists hold forth on the topic of age norms and you’d be forgiven for dismissing the topic as theoretical hoo-ha with little real-life relevance. But in the course of writing Rejuvenile I became convinced that age norms are in fact an enormously powerful and woefully underexamined social force that exerts influence in the unlikeliest of places.

Take your local gas station or convenience store. Check out the snack — ‘ve got your adult Cape Cod Potato Chips, your teen-leaning Doritos and your kid-targeted Cheetos. What adult in their right mind would eat a snack promoted by a sneaker-clad spokescat? While snackfood giant Frito-Lay doesn’t release market research data, it seems clear that Cheetos have become a major flashpoint in rejuvenile’s assault on age norms—adults all over are embracing the orangey goodness of Chester Cheetah’s favorite snack. Many are content to causally gobble down a bag in the privacy of their workplace cubicle. Others publicly flaunt their Cheetos affiliation, proudly displaying their stained orange fingers to friends and coworkers or posting weird online video clips as proof of their playful, mischievous spirits. Eating ?em is just the beginning:

Safely stow all personal belongings. Be advised that management is not responsible for injuries resulting from following rambunctious recitation of rejuvenile-flavored news nuggets?

Capture that Flag. An epic five-family game of Capture the Flag over the weekend has reawakened my love for this ridiculously involving kidgame. Players aged 5-50 got completely immersed in strategizing, sprinting and stealthy sneaking for two-plus hours. Only bummer was waking up next morning to find myself sore in all sorts of unmentionable nooks and crannies. Recuperating at home, play guru Bernie DeKoven tipped me off to this newfangled urban street version. The organizers are New Mind Space, a wildly commendable art-play gang that hosts rejuvenile street event/games/happenings like last week’s light saber battle, street pillow fights and “bubble battles.” Check their website for upcoming events in Toronto, New York, San Francisco, Boston, Chicago, Montreal and Vancouver.

Baffling toys. Bored by Barbie? Unmoved by Legos? Maybe it’s time to graduate to a new, weirder class of plaything. How about a she-male baby doll? Or a Playmobile Hazmat crew? The online edition of that long-lost juvenile humor mag Cracked has an amazing compendium of ?25 of the weirdest, most ill-conceived toys from around the globe.? I myself am now determined to get my own ?toilet training tiger,? complete with sound chip that blurts “Crap! Crap like a champion!” (Thanks to “Count” Conte for the tip).

Bad-ass toys. I like to think of myself as a conscientious parent. I generally avoid battery-operated, crash-bang toys in favor of puzzles and blocks and other playthings that encourage open-ended imaginative play and so on and we’re all free, free to be you and me whatever. The point is, I avoid toys that will turn my offspring into spastic, ultraviolent little maniacs. But sometimes a dad can’t help it. Two new recent arrivals in our household have inspired mad fits of fun in both the 8-year-old boy and his 30-something dad. The first is the V-Bot, a Transformer-like robot that, with the touch of a remote, twists and folds and turns into a respectable red sports car that can zoom and careen around the house and utterly terrify the family dog (Check out YouTube clip of astonishing transformation here). From the same manufacturer comes Battle Wheels, a line of remote controlled, anime-inspired wheeled robots that bash into each other, Rock Em Sock Em Robot-style. Both toys have inspired hours of unimaginative, closed-ended and entirely awesome fun.

Wiggleheads? Really? We all know kids go bananas for Australian kiddie pop TV stars The Wiggles. But somehow I thought that even the most golly-gee rejuveniles would be immune from their super-cheery, crazy-creepy shtick (is it just me, or does the guy in purple look like the kind of fellow who circles playgrounds in tinted-window vans?). But proving yet again that literally anything kids enjoy will be inevitably taken up by rejuveniles, the group has attracted a loyal adult fanbase that calls itself (wait for it) the Wiggleheads. Amusing/horrifying Q&As with die-hard Wiggles groupies here.

Did I forget to mention that Rejuvenile is in paperback? It is. It’s gorgeous, shiny-as-a-toy and at $11, quite reasonably priced. Order a copy today and tackle a few of the deep imponderables contained therein:
-re rejuveniles freespirited romantics or hopelessly gullible tools of a vast Madion Avenue conspiracy?
-hy didn’t rejuvenile greats J.M. Barrie, Dr. Seuss or Hans Christian Andersen ever have actual kids of their own?
-ow long until Nike launches a high performance shoe system for skipping?
-re adults who live at home with their parents forging a new interdependent family model or just suckers for mom’s lasagna?
-s the color of Rejuvenile’s dust jacket best described as yellow, buttercup or goldenrod?

Strap on your sneakers, pack up some snacks and get going, — awaits in London, LA and New York?

Tally-ho, U.K. Rejuveniles! Shadowy benefactor Gideon Reeling (either the name of an esteemed 71-year-old British mogul or the moniker of a production company run by a cheeky group of London theater geeks) is footing the bill for a fantastic weekend of creative fun on the banks of the Thames. The Hide & Seek Festival is the first U.K. event to showcase “pervasive games,” those gussied-up scavenger hunts and elaborate make-believe scenarios that have begun to trickle down to us plebes from the gaming elite (witness the Come Out & Play Festival in New York, which recently announced dates for its second annual event). The esteemed Mr. Reeling has assembled a roster of activities described as “all the best games you played as a kid with a grown up twist.” The games will “transform the city into a playground, make your heart race, change the way you see the world and get you playing nicely with others.” Game titles include Sheer Lunacy, Drunkpunch and Mr. Reeling’s Assistants (in which players will experience the thrill of running pointless errands for a 71-year-old mogul! Bonus round: sponge bath!)

Mighty Mamas Skate! Mother’s Day approacheth, a day of beautiful bouquets, breakfasts in bed and insane ollies on the half pipe (cue comical record scratch). For the fourth year running, Barb Odanaka (the Orange County housewife-turned-skate rat profiled in chapter two of Rejuvenile) is organizing the Mighty Mama Skate-O-Rama, a day of wicked tricks, awesome raffles and party-hearty celebration for skateboarding moms. Festivities begin at 10 am, Sunday May 13 at the Laguna Niguel Skatepark in south Orange County. More information here (click on “Barb’s Blog”).

Books + babysitters + booze = awesome playdate. Parent Play, the Manhattan party planners that specialize in family-friendly weekend parties, have another great event coming up: Get Up & Giggle, a pre-Memorial Day bash that will feature a discussion with Christie Mellor, author of the seminal momoir The Three Martini Playdate, along with the usual assortment of spa treatments and gift bags for adults and supervised fun for the kiddies. You’ll have to dig deep into your allowance for this one, however: tickets are $70 a family ($80 at the door).

This has nothing really to do with all things rejuvenile, but I thought I’d share it anyhow: The LA Times just published my column on “what I wish I knew about dating when I was single.” I dug deep into my own humiliating record of romance and found a curious parallel with an unhealthy obsession of the moment: the Australian self-help DVD “The Secret.” Full text is on my author website here.

Attention So Cal friends and fellow rejuveniles: I’ll be appearing at the LA Times Festival of Books on April 29 to tackle the burning question, ?Why Should Kids Have All the Fun??

Come hear my predictable answer (they shouldn—t), along with provocative chin-stroking from two wittier and prettier panelists, Brett Paesel (Mommies Who Drink) and Erika Schickel (You’re Not the Boss of Me). Our moderator is LA Times feature vet Robin Abcarian.

The panel is slated for Sunday, April 29 at 11:30 am in Moore 100. A full schedule for Sunday is here.

The festival is always terrific; this year’s schedule includes appearances and discussions with Arianna Huffington, Pico Iyer, T.C. Boyle, Ray Bradbury and James Ellroy. Admission is free, but you need tickets to attend certain panels and speaker sessions. Order your tickets at no charge through Ticketmaster.

To those of us who enjoy the luxury of waxing theoretical, being a rejuvenile is about expressing a mindset. It’s about living a life that places more value in spontaneity and openness than traditional “adult” notions of steadfastness and seriousness.

But make no mistake: being a rejuvenile is also about being a target market. At this very moment, smart and well-compensated account execs are formulating sophisticated campaigns to sell you — the thirtysomething cubicle farmer, you the grizzled Boomer with the BMW skateboard, you the fiftysomething Arielholic.

No interest in chocolate bars laced with bits of dehydrated rice? What if it possesses the power to release ?the kid in you?? Anxious about finding yourself in a tract house with kids and a minivan? Then strike back! Adorn your walls with framed Chris Ware posters, get thee a belly ring, start a garage band!

Not that there’s anything wrong with belly rings, garage bands, or for that matter, being a target market. As players in a highly mediated, ever-more-commercialized new century, we’re all data points in a vast commercial matrix. Pretending to be above such things is futile.

The trick is knowing the difference between what we genuinely want and what we’re being sold. None of us want our mindsets shaped by commercial forces (even if they are). As easy as it is to fall back into tractable, pre-adult neediness ? Look, a shiny thing! Wait, I want candy! ? we can all agree we’re far better off recognizing a pitch when it comes along and deciding consciously and deliberately whether to accept it.

Me, I reject Nestle Crunch bars and belly rings. Here, though, are a few rejuvenile-targeted goods and services I simply cannot resist:

? The Crayola Crayon Executive Pen. For the truly self-possessed executive, this brass ballpoint pen has the weight and gravitas of the corner office and the cheery playfulness of the romper room. Store it on your desk next to your Executive Set Sea Monkey set and send a clear message: you are not a Dilbert drone.

Hidden Lemonade Stand Easter eggs. Kim & Jason, the reigning rejuvenile power couple from Madison, WI are doing a cool contest in conjunction with their online store the Lemonade S — prizes by locating the hidden Easter eggs nestled among childlike goodies. But be careful? you just might find yourself leavign with an “Adulthood stinks” T-shirt or a copy of their eseential how-to manual Escape Adulthood.

??Big Fun toy store. A friend visiting Cleveland happened upon what she describes as rejuvenile — cluttered and crazed collection of new and used toys, models, action figures, board games and lunchboxes. Owner Steve Presser has a thing for vintage commercial tie-ins, from the obvious (Star Wars, Care Bears) to the obscure (M.A.S.K., Mr. T). No website; visit them on your next jaunt to Ohio: 1827 Coventry Rd, Cleveland Ohio.

???All Grown Up? image gallery ? My old friend Jeff Schmidt alerted me to this catalog of commercial photographs from the The Veer Image Bank. I wasn’t aware that commercial picture services had gotten so arty and — images are way more expressive and subtle than the highly staged, brightly lit, artificial pictures I associate with commercial photography. More impressive still is how this collection of pictures transcends the usual media stereotypes about — are no wacky shots of losers playing videogames in their moms? basement. Instead we get images of couples playing with their kids, guys playing foosball and women practicing guitar, accompanied by clever captions that suggest the anxiety and playfulness that’s so characteristic of us not-quite-grown-ups. For all those well-compensated account execs working on campaigns aimed at our demographic, this is an invaluable creative tool.

Who are you anyway? A hopeful iconoclast forging a more playful model of maturity, or a pathetic lost soul clinging desperately to fast-fading freedoms?

And here you thought you just had a thing for cupcakes.

We rejuveniles are a polarizing bunch. Defenders proclaim the benefits of cultivating childlike tastes into adulthood, casting their critics as hopelessly stodgy sticks-in-the-mud. Traditionalists counter that adulthood is about coming to grips with sacrifice, hard work and seriousness.

Such debate makes up a big part of Rejuvenile, but I’ve been surprised at how vitriolic the discussion has become in the eight months since publication. Maybe it’s the war overseas, or Bush, or the chilly — any case, a slew of red-hot, pull-up-your-bootstraps adults has appeared to circle the wagons and declare with phlegmatic ferocity that rejuveniles pose a real and present danger against all that is good and proper.

Hands down the most hard-core Harrumphing Codger to join the debate is Ingrid Schlueter, host of the syndicated radio program ?Crosstalk.? She’s been on a tear about rejuveniles since the book appeared, writing last summer that my account of adults wearing footie pajamas and playing video games has convinced her that “what this country needs is a really major economic crash, the kind where people are on the sidewalk selling pencils and their children have nothing to eat.”

Ms. Schlueter devoted a recent hour-long program to the phenomenon (audio archive here), proclaiming her horror at today’s “cult of youth” and noting its terrifying signifiers: middle-aged women who wear lowrider jeans (?revolting!?), religious leaders who declare a love for surfing, parents who share the same taste in music as their kids and, perhaps most distressingly, men who’ve forgotten the stoic heroism of traditional masculinity (Exhibit A: a reality show contestant who wept upon being booted from a dance program. “And he was wearing a leotard!” she said. ?I would hope a real man wouldn’t go to a dance audition. It’s time to grow up.?)

Canadian journalist Kevin Libin is similarly hung up on “manliness,” though he’s infinitely more reasonable and eloquent, noting that “the centuries-old archetype of the master of the house” which has been the Western cultural tradition from Herod to Heathcliff Huxtable, is eagerly being cast off to make way for ?alternadads.?? A column in yesterday’s National Post (sub required) includes a nice mini profile of a 36-year-old emergency room doctor who loves video games and comics and sees no reason why these enthusiasms make him a bad father. Mr. Libin trots out Codger mouthpiece Frank Furedi to give him the bad news: he’s just not a real man. “As manly authority declines, it’s not replaced by an alternative male authority,” Furedi says. ?It’s replaced by ambiguity, where you try to basically resolve the problem by, instead of being a role model to your son or daughter, you try to be their best friend.?

I spoke to Mr. Libin last week and had a chance to weigh in on the charge that rejuevenile dads are sissy men too weak to be the sort of heroic figures that nature intended. And while my response didn’t make it into print (I’m quoted bashing my beatnik parents instead—sorry mom!), it’s worth repeating that I for one am only too glad that the Herod/Heathcliff Huxtable model of fatherhood is giving way to one that allows for more fun, flexibility and connection. As likeminded author and goofy dad Neal Pollack points out, it’s not as if playful dads don’t know what their primary job — all understand that we’re here to shelter, protect and provide. But why does that mean we’re prohibited from enjoying the same stuff our kids do? Why is it so hard for Mr. Libin or Ms. Shlueter to comprehend that one can be parent and pal, sometimes toggling uncomfortably between the two roles but often being both, in the same moment?

Fathers and their kids also get their due in a three-page review of Rejuvenile that appeared two weeks ago in the Weekly Standard (not online). It’s not the screed I was expecting from a neocon journal that is about as Harrumphing as they come; reviewer Susie Currie did a nice job recapping and even offers that book is “a fun read.” But she can’t contain her superiority over the rejuveniles described in the book, asking forgiveness for “thinking that if some of these people were any shallower, they’d be the Sahara.” She takes particular offense at remarks in book by Rebecca Flaugh, the 28-year-old childless travel agent who told me she never understood her father’s “death march” of responsible adulthood. By modeling her own life in terms of self-actualization over self-sacrifice, Flaugh “made my skin crawl,” Currie writes.

No doubt some rejuveniles need to grow up and get a grip on the particular demands of their adult lives. But the vast majority of people I met while working on the book were like the emergency room doctor with the video game — is, productive and responsible adults who choose to spend their off-hours doing stuff their parents might find ridiculous. To them, adulthood isn’t just about fighting for one’s share in a cruel and unforgiving world. It’s about picking responsibilities carefully, taking care of family and self and having some fun along the way. As I say in the book, they are unimpressed with the virtues of — them, suffering is vastly overrated.

Happily, rejuvenile coverage of late hasn’t all been of the grumpy variety. Writer Whit Honea (keeper of this very funny blog) contributed a nice review to the busy site Dadcentric, calling the book “a comprehensive study of what makes this a movement and not just a load of shit.” Northeastern University student Jeff Miranda just published a thorough and sympathetic story on the phenomenon in his college paper. And similarly thoughtful stories have appeared in last few weeks in the Omaha World Herald and the Toledo Blade? proving that rejuveniles might get a bad rap in the Weekly Standard, but they love us in Toledo.

Firstly, I am a nearly-40 dad who spends much of his time worrying about mortgage rates, school admission procedures and acid reflux. I mainline NPR. I enjoy the occasional showtune. I am, in short, deeply boring.

Part two is more mortifying: I am a former New Wave kid who spent an inordinate amount of my youth scrounging through record shops for 12? remixes by synth-dependent Britpop — not just the cool ones (favorite song in senior year? ?Doot Doot? by Freur.) My teen years were marked by all-ages clubs and finger-in-lightsocket hairstyles and podium dancing. I am not proud.

The third part of my confession is where it gets weird: even though I am a deathly dull adult who should know better, I still spend an inordinate amount of time loitering in the used section of record shops, going to shows and trading mix CDs with friends. Having kids has only intensified my pop — fact, one of the happiest and most unexpected discoveries becoming a dad was the entry it gave me into whole new genres of music that I’d been too snobbish to pay any attention before. Now I make mix CDs to pass out as party favors at my kids? birthday parties (under the nom-de-mix MC Sippy Cup), lurk on kid music websites (most notably Amy Davis? fantastic blog) and write the occasional missive on the booming state of kidmusic.

So in the interest of staying abreast with what the Kids are Listening To These Days, here are four discs that have been getting heavy minivan rotation of late:

Gabby La-La’s “Be Careful What You Wish For.” My favorite kid CD at the moment isn’t really a kids CD, tho I can’t imagine why Gabby La-La isn’t being counted among the big new stars on the kidmusic scene (she kicks Laurie Berkner’s bland behind). Gabby is a hippie-damaged pixie from the Bay Area whose musical — plays the sitar, ukulele, toy piano and T — landed her session gigs with Snoop Dogg and Macy Gray. Her debut disc was produced by Primus frontman Les Claypool, but it’s not the punky freakfolk you might — ‘s bright and dynamic and embedded with the wonder and wit of childhood. She sings about backpacks and elves and fleas with the sort of wholehearted abandon that makes you forget age norms altogether? She’s the freaky aunt who your kids won’t leave alone.

James Kochalka’s ?Our Most Beloved.? I first heard Kochalka on the first indispensable Greasy Kids Stuff — “Hockey Monkey” is truly one of the funnest kid rock songs ever and should, if there were any justice in the mediasphere, be a mammoth kidsong/mainstream crossover hit. Can’t you hear it on ?Idol?? I finally splurged on the recent Rykodisc greatest hits disc, which includes a lot more loud, raucous, oddly sweet songs about monkeys and robots and wookies and the like. Great stuff for punk rock tots.

Milkshake’s ?Play.? I was sent the Baltimore band’s latest by guitarist Miles Anderson, who responded to my Fids and Kamily essay about how so much new kids music sounds like warmed-over adult rock. Milkshake, in contrast, is meant to be “happy music for happy kids.” Indeed it — disc is unapologetically peppy, a colorful parade of glossy high-production pop in the tradition of the Archies and the Partridge Family. Kids dig it and parents can’t get it out of their heads.

The Brothers Comstock’s ?What Do You Want?? This was another out-of-the-blue freebie from a band beloved by scraggly tots but too often slagged by cooler-than-thou reviewers. Billing themselves as a cross between Cheech & Chong and the Wiggles, the Brothers are a rough but tuneful ramshackle duo that writes songs about the glories of basketball and staying up late and watching DVDs. Interesting side note: brothers also invented a very cool rejuvenile machine known as the Margarator (perfect for mixing up slushies for kids and margaritas for the parents).

The shell is dyed, the hole poked, the yolk drained? now go ahead, smash this fragile ovoid and release its bounty of smallish items of interest!

Alternadads unite. The Sunday LA Times included my review of Neal Pollack’s book about struggling to stay cool in the cultural dead zone of fatherhood. Pollack is a fellow Angeleno with a distaste for Barney and an obsessive desire for his kids to appreciate good rock and roll. It’s a very funny and thoughtful book, and Pollack is keeping a great Blog about the ongoing hilarity of raising his son Elijah. Elsewhere in blogland, here’s a review of my review.

RPS goes corporate. You’ve been in meetings since dawn, you’ve just wolfed down a wilted cobb salad and you’re now facing a long afternoon holed up in a conference room with a crowd of dispirited office monkeys? only one thing will save you now: rock paper scissors. Really. The World RPS Society (the original Toronto-based league of twee intellectuals, not to be confused with the balls-out, Bud-endorsed US Rock Paper Scissors League) has just launched a service that will organize and referee RPS tournaments at conferences, office parties and other business events. A frivolous exercise in forced cheer? No — is an ingenious way to quickly break professional artifice and generate creativity, communication and fun. (Here’s a hint, minions: bosses throw rock.)

Harrumphing Codgers rejoice! Here’s a manifesto for cranky old men! British author and broadcaster Michael Bywater has published what sounds like a clever tho reactionary survey of the Rejuvenile phenomenon, or to quote his title, Big Babies: Why Can’t We Just Grow Up? Reviews say it’s about how government and advertising treat adults as “mewling infants who have to be told, essentially, look look shiny shiny coin coin every forlorn second of every babyish day.” There’s good reason to worry about business and government encouraging adults to drop critical defenses, but I refuse to believe the answer to that problem is a return to the rigid and overserious traditional mold of maturity. The rejuveniles I met while working on the book were mature in many ways and immature in many — I say in the book, it’s possible to lead a happy healthy life that ?includes charity and skateboarding, G-8 summit position papers and midnight cupcakes, long stretches of concentrated seriousness and mad fits of impulsiveness.?

It’s just a data point, but as stats go, this one’s a doozy: “51% of women are now living without a spouse.” So sayeth the headline of a piece in Monday’s New York Times now prompting much hand-wringing over the changing makeup of the American family.

This increase in unmarrieds may be just an — number was 49% six years — it’s being greeted as a terrifying sign of social collapse among the conservative- — , it signals a terrifying tipping point in the ever-descending path of the American family. It’s a Phyllis Schlafly nightmare: faithful wives outnumbered by swinging single gals, cohabitating girlfriends and merry widows.

So, you may well ask, what’s all this got to do with cupcakes and kickball and other childish leisure pursuits? Here’s what: beyond the demographic shifts at work in this story (increasing co-habitation, longer lifespans, declining rates of remarriage after divorce or death), it seems to me there’s a more primary force driving the change: the reinvention of the American grown-up. As I discuss in chapter 5 of Rejuvenile, marriage was, as recently as the mid-1960s, the single defining right of passage into adulthood. Getting married meant moving out on your own, having sex, starting a family, the lot. Today, of course, we’re free to sample all those freedoms outside marriage. Weddings are still important, of course, but today they’re less announcements of maturity than party-down pageants (exhibit A: Disney’s Fairy Tale Weddings).

Times columnist David Brooks chimed in yesterday, arguing that the real problem is that marriage is too — essence, that women are afraid to get married because it signals an end rather than a beginning. His solution? To persuade people that marriage is “less a state of sacred bliss, and more a social machine.” One can only imagine a young Mr. Brooks approaching his beloved, bending down one knee, and uttering the sage advice from his own column: “Accompanied with the right instruction manual, (marriage) can be useful for achieving practical ends.” Oh, swoon!

My own sense is we’re not, as Brooks suggests, witnessing the disintegration of the American family. Rather we’re seeing the continuing evolution of what it means to be an adult. What was once rigidly understood in terms of familial relationships is now tailor-made, up-for-grabs, loosey-goosey. The increasing number of unmarried women are not, by and large, stunted. They’re not suffering from arrested — in fact are working mothers who go to great lengths to care for their kids, partners and themselves. They are, in short, grown — not the sort observers like Brooks want them so very much to be.

Rejuvenile made a brief appearance Monday morning in the first hour of ABC’s “Good Morning America” in a story about play at the workplace.

Here’s the gist of the GMA piece: work is boring. A few office monkeys are fighting back with inter-department playground slides, break room foos-ball tables and other goofy innovations. Cue remark from yours truly on the importance of play and fun in the workplace and how these changes reflect the larger rejuvenile phenom.

All of which is nice enough, but I’ve got to say the story stirred the harrumphing codger in me—apparently, play at work is all about M&Ms and Nerf basketball. In our interview, I tried to emphasize that too often, the merry chattering bosses who institute “playful” reforms are putting window dressing on salt mines. There is little more infuriating than having a Wacky Fun Day hosted by an employer who skimps on health insurance or restricts family leave. I don’t think there’s any doubt a genuinely playful attitude toward work can benefit both worker and the bottom line, but it’s not about bouncing balls or bobbleheads. It’s about doing our work with the same wonder and imagination and sense of fun that too many workers ditch in the name of professionalism.

For more on developing a truly playful approach to work, start by reading chapter 2 of Rejuvenile then checking out the following:

? The Play Ethic - Pat Kane’s brilliant manifesto on the end of the old protestant work ethic was published last year in the U.S. and contains many dazzling, scholarly ideas about having fun in the name of productivity.

? Adultitis - Jason & Kim Kotecki offer a free, step-by-step program of practical tips on loosening up and sparking childlike wonder in the midst of an adult life.
-ou can do better than a depressing bowl of M&Ms on your desk. Check out Office Playground for the best in cubicle doo-dads. Get thee a desktop sandbox!

First, we talked cupcakes. Now, we talk business. Rachel Kramer Bussel, whose online presence is deliciously split between a blog about cupcakes and a blog about erotica, did a very nice piece this summer on the cupcake blog about rejuveniles and food.

This week she posted an equally good, if somewhat less tasty, question-and-answer about the mechanics and practicalities of writing this book. It’s posted on the journalism webzine Mediabistro. Here’s an excerpt:

Where did you first get the idea for The New York Times “rejuvenile” article and how long did you spend researching it? Did you have plans to turn it into a book at that time? Were there more things you wanted to explore and chronicle than you had room for in the Times piece?
?I’d been freelancing for magazines and newspapers for seven-odd years when I started thinking seriously about writing a book—I felt my attention span getting longer and was itching to tackle a big, amorphous topic. The idea for Rejuvenile grew out of questions I was asking myself, and things I saw around me. At the time, I was dividing my time between freelancing and taking care of two little kids. I discovered that caring for small children gave me license to play tag, splatter paint, eat Popsicles and do all sorts of things I was sure would be listed as felonies in the “Official Adult Rule Book.” Talking first to other parents and then to a number of other adults, I was shocked to find I wasn’t alone—grown-ups all over were indulging their inner children like never before; the meaning of maturity had fundamentally changed without much reflection or comment.

I approached a few agents with the idea but was mostly met with “call us back when you have a proposal.” Betsy Amster—a former editor at Pantheon and Vintage, who now runs an independent agency here in L.A.—was the exception. She loved the idea, helped me plan and shape the proposal, and advised me on what material to concentrate on for a sample chapter.
Hoping to turn a freelance assignment into a sample chapter, I pitched editors I’d worked with at The New York Times with a story about adults who love kiddie music—I’d just seen a band called Gwendolyn and the Goodtime Gang do a set of rock covers of “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” and “Bingo” for an over-21 club and had talked to collectors who specialized in weird old kids records and thought it would make a good [“Sunday Styles”] feature. They liked the music idea, but were way more interested in the larger phenomenon, and ended up assigning a general trend piece.

After the rejuvenile story ran on the front page of the “Sunday Styles” section, I spent another month fleshing out the proposal, eager to submit it while the story was still relatively fresh. In the end, I didn’t do a sample chapter at all, opting instead to do a detailed overview and lengthy chapter summaries (which, of course, changed when I got the deal and actually began writing).

How did the book deal come about?
?To my enormous relief, the proposal was picked up within the first week. Three publishers expressed interest, though Rachel Klayman at Crown/Random House was the most enthusiastic. She made an offer within 24 hours. There was a date set for an auction but, in the end, the other publishers elected not to compete with Crown.

In your book proposal, how much of your research plans were mapped out?
?I did a lot of advance research for the proposal, referencing basic demographic, marketing sociological data that supported my thesis, and including interviews I conducted while reporting The New York Times piece. These research plans changed significantly once I started work—I altered four chapter topics, added three others and rearranged material.

Do you have any advice to first-time nonfiction authors? Is there anything you’d have done differently, either from a financial standpoint or a journalistic one? ?
It’s become a clich?, but it bears repeating: Your job is only half-done once you’ve finished the book. Your publisher or agent or publicist can be helpful with promotion but, ultimately, it’s your job to get the word out. This extra work has its benefits—it’s great to connect with readers, and hear how your ideas land in a larger market—but it’s hard to make the switch from writing and reporting to hustling and promoting.

You there, against the — the Dixie cup and get out on the dance floor. Under the flickering lights, behold!

- took this photo a few weeks ago on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood and find myself thinking about this poor guy way too often. Beyond wondering about what goes through his mind all day long (Isn’t this how Brad Pitt started?), my question is this: isn’t $14.99 a little steep for a fart machine?
- just relaunched my author site to include a deeper archive of clips and a Flickr site of photos, doodles and found art. Fun stuff.
-he unstoppable force for good known as Kim and Jason Kotecki have done a sweet redesign of their website devoted to Adultitis, the Jason-named condition marked by over-seriousness, chronic dullness and all the other assorted qualities rejuveniles seek to avoid. Take the online intake questionaire and begin your treatment today!
-f ever there was a worthwhile political campaign for rejuveniles, this is it: preservationists are rallying to stop demolition of an amazing little playground in San Gabriel. I discovered Monster Park a few years ago while hunting for a soup dumpling joint: there, tucked beside a storm drain amidst drab suburban sprawl was a cluster of odd concrete — dinosaur, an octopus, a — of which you could slide and climb and scramble all over. It’s the sort of weird, wonderful, probably-unsafe-but-delightfully-so place for kids that you never see anymore. Even if you’ll never make it to San Gabriel to see it yourself, trust me: sign the petition and join the effort to stop the Man from slaying these lovable monsters to make room for another bland, padded plastic-composite play structure. (Link via Spike Brower, who used Monster Park as a principal location in his terrific short film The Fish Burglars)
-ond goes rejuvenile: In a clever co-opting of moves that mix Kung Fu grace with Spiderman daring-do, the new Bond movie Casino Royale gets an thrilling kick from the age-norm-busting urban gymnastic known as parkour. Producers cast Sebastien Foucan, the parkour pioneer featured in chapter 3 of Rejuvenile, as Mollaka the Bomb-Maker, who leads Bond on an intense opening foot chase. Not shabby for a 36-year-old dad.
-ere’s a culinary event for rejuveniles ? the Grilled Cheese Invitational, an annual meeting of gooey sandwich connoisseurs described as “part competition, part fashion disaster and part rave potluck.” (thanks to best teevee critic ever Heather Havrilesky for tip)
-rendspotters Buzzfeed did a nice roundup on adult enthusiasm for Legos, which I write about in chapter 2 of Rejuvenile. The Buzzfeed piece links to a bunch of sites by AFOL’s (Adult Fans of Lego), including one by former JPL engineer and entrepreneur Phillip Alvelda who says Legos were a “transformative toy for me that unleashed my imagination around the realization that I could build ANYTHING.” (Thanks to reader Brian Vartabedian for the link)

The recent success of the CGI movie Happy Feet proves at least three things: 1) that director George Miller has finally atoned for following the miraculous Babe with its druggy disgrace of a sequel, 2) that mash-up pop is now officially not even remotely cool, 3) that penguins have joined pirates as pop culture mascots of the moment.

Anyone else notice the recent pirate n? penguin proliferation? They’re everywhere. Go to Disneyland expecting a meeting with Mickey, Donald & company and you’re instead marauded by packs of rum-swilling scallywags. Turn on PBS or Animal Planet and you’ll enjoy a deep catalog of wildlife films featuring waddling arctic birds. Ever since Johnny Depp channeled Keith Richards in Pirates of the Caribbean and French naturalists mined anthropomorphism for gold in March of the Penguins, pirates and penguins are the hottest thing in the non-copyrightable kid media universe.

It’s worth noting any time a character breaks out of kid media in such a dramatic way. It’s especially worth noting when the zeitgeist is simultaneously infiltrated by icons that represent such diametrically opposed characteristics. Think about it. When pirates are the most popular costume on Halloween, when the movie about dancing penguins is preceded by previews for a movie about surfing penguins, when ?talk like a pirate day? becomes a national media event, when Original Penguin becomes the hottest retro brand is sportswear? it means something. It means these characters have gotten under our skin. They speak to us.

And what do they say? Two different things entirely.

Pirates, of course, are lawless, drunken, slovenly, wily, individualistic, brutal, unhygienic, rootless, venal, greedy, foolhardy and anti-authoritarian. They are what we’d be if we severed all ties with families and bosses and forces of civility. They venture forth, they overdo, they revel and rebel. Their popularity speaks to an intensifying desire to buck against forces of regularity and restraint. We want to unshackle our inner wench or rascal, get drunk at the office party, vomit on the boss? shoes and make off with the buried doubloons. They are our id, our hidden libertarian, our inner rock star.

Penguins are something else. They’re communal, lovable, affectionate, noble, habitual, faceless, dutiful, familial and predictable. They are what we’d be if we gave over entirely to the rule of the crowd. They nurture their young, follow the pack, huddle together against the merciless cold. Our inner penguin urges us to carpool the neighbor’s kids to soccer practice, follow mom’s advice and vote for the candidate with the best plan to mend the social safety net. They are our super ego, our progressive-democrat, our inner social worker.

So which are you, pirate or penguin?

As a father of three who spends much of his time shuttling around in a minivan with more cup holders than horsepower, I fall squarely into the penguin pack. But as is so often the case in such polarizing red state-blue state comparisons, I’m purple. Among my favorite CDs for the grueling commute to school: Captain Bogg and Salty, a kiddie rock act that specializes in, — songs.

Quick, Dreamworks, greenlight that treatment about a band of pirate penguins!

Two huge events in the rejuvenile music world, or at least in the small but burgeoning ‘burgh of kids music that aims to be as exciting and inventive as music made for adults…

Firstly, a gang of smart and dedicated kiddie music connoisseurs has tabulated the first annual Fids and Kamily Music Poll, a critical survey of kid music that aims to do for the genre what the Pazz and Jop poll does for more mainstream adult music. Topping the list this year is Justin Roberts’ rightfully acclaimed “Meltdown” with appearances by Dan Zanes, the Sippy Cups and Captain Bogg & Salty. The lovely and amazing Amy Davis (keeper of the indispensable The Lovely Mrs Davis Tells You What to Think) asked me to write a little essay-cum-rant to accompany the poll; I got all contrarian and took the opportunity to sound a note of cynicism. Hope I didn’t stink up the party.

As the sort of pop geek who pores over annual critic polls to find out what the cool kids are listening to as I replay the same few Wilco and Sufjan records over and over, Fids and Kamily represents a milestone, methinks, the announcement of a bonafide genre, one worth taking seriously and one ready for the attention of a much wider audience…

Which makes it all the timelier that the New York Times has swooped in this Sunday with a smart and funny feature about the ascendance of quality kids music and the tension between hipster parents using music to extend their own adolescence and those make and listen to music that excites adults as much as the sippy cup set. Freelancer Tammy LaGorce did a very nice job capturing the scene at this perilous point, quoting a number of bigwigs in the kid music world, including a Woodstock, NY record producer who cited this very blog, repeating my suggestion that the surest way to turn your kid Republican is to dress him up in a Sex Pistols T-shirt.

All in all, a good day to be a fan of music about sharing and bugs. Don’t bogart the earplugs; this is gonna get loud.

We hear that rumbly in your tumbly; may we recommend a tasty sample plate of briefs and shorts and such? Dig in:

? First of two big events on the rejuvenile calendar this weekend: the World Adult Kickball Association holds its Leader’s Cup in San Diego, CA. This will be the first big kickball competition ever held on the West Coast; looking forward to seeing how our teams fare against Kick Asphalt, the badass D.C. crew that has been basically unbeatable in East Coast tournament play. I’ll be on hand Friday night to sign books, soak up the kickball glory and cheer on the locals?
-eanwhile in Toronto, the World Rock Paper Scissors Society hosts its annual championship tournament on Saturday. I’m told by WRPS honcho Graham Walker that a record number of players signed up this year. They’ll employ RPS stratagems like the Crecendo and the Scissor Sandwich in their quest to bag the $7,000 first prize. Remember: tense players throw rock.

Balls, not bombs. That’s the slogan appearing on a fetching new line of apparel featuring a cartoon of George W. holding a red playground ball.

The Rejuvenile book group on the Weeds message boards is sharing some great stories about play in the workplace, favorite kidgames and other examples of rejuvenile behavior. (One member shared this amazing site for superhero supplies.) It’s not to late to join the discussion?

Then step aboard this Wonka steamship and keep your hands and feet inside as we travel into a dark and forbidding tunnel, toward a rejuvenile outpost populated by adults who assume the identities of giant stuffed animals, men who have torrid affairs with stuffed animals and grownups who derive exquisite sexual pleasure lolling around in jumbo sized diapers.

The following passage was written to be included in the final pages of the last chapter of Rejuvenile. I cut it at the last minute, partly because it didn’t adequately capture the complexity of these people and communities, but mostly because this stuff is so reflexively icky that I didn’t want to send half my readers running for the showers just before I attempted a sober-minded summing up and celebration of the rejuvenile phenomenon.

Herewith then, a deleted scene:

I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time casually glossing over mention of a subculture of people who enjoy having sex dressed as cartoon animals. I know I’m opening a can of — once I’ve mentioned Furries, I’m pretty much obligated to move on to the topic of Plushies, people whose intense-bordering-on-impure attachment to stuffed animals sometimes results in the creation of “strategically-placed-holes” or “strategically-placed-appendages” (known in Plushies circles by the helpful acronyms SPH’s and SPA—s). And once I’ve covered Plushies, it’s only natural to discuss Adult Babies, those grownups who derive sexual pleasure from on being swaddled in jumbo-sized diapers.

Here we’ve reached the furthest reaches of the rejuvenile universe, a place so far removed from a traditional understanding of adulthood that it is hard to know how any of it relates to the larger rejuvenile phenomenon. First of all, it’s probably unfair to lump these proclivities together, or even to define them as essentially kid-centric or sexual. Many Furries, for instance, believe that they are in fact animals trapped in the bodies of humans. Dressing up becomes a way to reconnect with their anthropomorphic selves. ?A Furry typically thinks of himself (and let’s face it, he’s typically male) as though his “real” self is an ocelot-centaur, or a silver-furred wolf, or what have you,? says a software designer from Oregon who keeps tabs on the Furry community. “Some Furries talk about totem animals, or animal spirit guides, or being gazelles in previous lives. Some just sit around and wish with all their might that they had paws and a tail.”

The Fur-friendly fan who provided this quick primer answered a message I’d posted on an Internet newsgroup looking for adult fans of Hello Kitty. He calls himself Honi, and he certainly qualified. In an e-mail, here’s how he describes his room:

Hello Kitty is everywhere. The bed, the lamp, the rug, the curtains, the phone, the mouse pad and speakers, even my USB — Hello Kitty. There are about 30 stuffed Hello Kitties of various design, Hello Kitty clothes I can never wear but wish I could, a few boxes of Hello Kitty goods that I’ve opened and removed the contents of but couldn’t bear to throw away because they’re too — , you get the idea? I’m not monogamously in love with Hello Kitty ? I have some My Little Ponies, anime dolls, Powerpuff Girls ornaments, and the — I love things that are cute, and Hello Kitty is the epitome of cute. I would love to be cute myself, but the laws of physics aren’t on my side there. I think of myself as someone who is very in touch with my inner child. It’s just that my inner child happens to be a seven-year-old girl.

Honi is quick to point out that sex is only a peripheral part of his obsession. There was a time when he, as he puts it, “indulged in Plushie sex,” back when he was spending 18-plus hours a day on the Internet role-playing the part of Dot Warner, a character from a television cartoon called “The Animaniacs.” But these days his love of Hello Kitty is more aspirational than kinky: ?It’s not that I’m driven by lust for Hello Kitty — ‘s that I love the pink dreamy haze that being surrounded by Hello Kitty puts me in. I’d rather be her than have sex with her.?

The same sort of distinction is made by many Adult Babies, more formally known as infantilists but also known as Diaper Lovers. These are adults (again, mostly — figure) who enjoy wearing Pampers and Huggies, sucking pacifiers, getting spanked, eating baby food or otherwise being treated like infants. A 20-year-old support group known as Diaper Pail Friends claims some 15,000 members. On the DPF Website you can find advice on such topics as how to lock diaper pins and find adult-sized cribs alongside a manual for would-be mommies (?You may have to discipline his naughty bottom,? the manual advises, ?but your firmness must be tempered by warmth and care?). There’s also an online store that stocks hypnosis tapes that will “reduce you to any age of your choice,” and books and videos with titles like “Baby Pants Prisoner” and ?Come Home to Mommy? (advertised with this come-hither tagline: ?Mommy greets you at the door. She lays you down on the softest, thickest diaper you have ever seen.?)

Adult babies stress that they are not aroused by — , they get off on being treated as children. “I want to be the baby,” says a 28-year-old attorney we’ll call Jim. ?I get a thrill out of the sensations of being treated as a — ‘s entirely different than loving a child.?

None of Jim’s friends or family know about his secret stash of baby gear, and he prides himself on living a by-all-appearances normal adult — enjoys skiing, reading the Economist and talking politics. But inside, he says, “I have the sexuality of a two year old.” The only person he’s been able to share these feelings with was a woman from college, who on the day they met was dressed in a Disney T-shirt and drank milk from a sippy cup. “We were in diapers together within four weeks,” he says happily.

Jim thinks premature potty training may have had something to do with his sexuality—that, and an unusually close relationship with his mother. (?I was always super coddled and sheltered and protected,? he says. ?I cried my eyes out when I left for college.?) But whatever the root cause, he has come to accept his babyish sexuality as a “basic part of me.” And while he’s intensely private about his sexuality, he feels no particular shame about it. “It’s completely harmless,” he says. “It’s just cute. It’s nothing. I’m much less harmful than the average guy. I just get more pleasure out of pooping than most people do.”

Here’s a chance to join a book group - without ever stepping into a stranger’s living room, drinking bad Merlot or enduring the Deep Thoughts of a frustrated English major…

An online discussion group will begin posting messages about Rejuvenile on Wednesday, November 1. So far a dozen readers have signed up; they plan to argue points, swap their own stories and pick apart my precious narrative thread by thread….

For this (and so much else), I have my wife Jenji to thank. The book group was organized by fans of Jenji’s Showtime series Weeds which wraps up its thrilling second season tonight and which is honestly an incredibly good and funny program, and not just because this season has included not one but THREE product placements for the book. So if nothing else, Rejuvenile has found an audience among stoner premium cable web addicts.

If you’d like to join the fun or read what a gang of surprisingly funny and insightful readers have to say about the book, head over to sho.com, click on WEEDS, enter the message boards; the REJUVENILE BOOK GROUP can be found under the EPISODE 12: PITTSBURGH thread. You’ll have to register with the site, but it’s no big whup.

I’m a sometime journalist, which puts me in some ugly company ? I’m well aware the job title is shared by the likes of Nancy Grace, Geraldo Rivera and legions of other desperate, clueless hacks?

Over my own 15-odd year course of writing and reporting stories for newspapers and magazines, I’ve probably done a fair amount of hackery myself. And I’m sure I’ve done a few people wrong along the way.

But this week I’ve finally gotten a close-up look at how bad journalism looks from the other side of the notebook. And all I can say is, yuck.

A month or so back I was contacted by a producer for ABC World News Tonight about a story he was putting together on adult kickball. We talked about the World Adult Kickball Association and my own experience in the sport, and then I told him about all the other kidgames featured in the book and on this blog. He was unaware how far the phenomenon went, and so I happily filled him in on skipping, tag, dodgeball, staredown and rock paper scissors. Over the course of the next few weeks, we talked three or four more times as he followed my leads for footage and interviewed the tag players and rock paper scissors people. And then one afternoon in September a crew came to my house for what ended up being an hour-long interview.

The story aired last week? and there it all was, a full five minute World News Tonight feature on kidgames reclaimed by adults. Only one thing was missing: any reference to me or the book. Especially galling was a standup by correspondent Dean Reynolds, in which he said, “In fact any game you may have played at recess as a kid is probably now being played somewhere by adults. There are now staredown leagues for example. There’s an international skipping movement. And even a tag institute.”

That sounded awfully familiar - if I didn’t use those exact words in our interview, I said something very much like it.

When I called the producer the next day, he acknowledged that he “got guidance” from me but that he talked to 50 people and referred to other stories on the topic (though when pressed, he conceded that none of the other stories included all the examples he ended up using). His bureau chief agreed that no wrongdoing was done and that they would not apologize or even acknowledge that a mistake had been made. The best they could muster was to say they were “sorry I feel that way,” which felt even more unsatisfactory since that’s what I tell my wife when she’s got PMS and is raging about the lack of ice cream in the house?

I’ve raised the issue with ABC standards and practices and hope they at least acknowledge that this wasn’t model journalism. I’m told by friends in publishing biz that this sort of thing is happening more and — hard-up for angles will appropriate someone else’s work, if not their precise wording. While I absolutely recognize I don’t own this story, I think we can all agree it’s at best sloppy and at worst sleazy not to at least cite a source when a reporter cites several examples, follows several leads and even lifts some wording from someone who has spent many years studying a topic….

I’m incredibly grateful the book has gotten all the nice media attention it — makes this latest episode seem all the sleazier?

Thanks so much for stopping by! Grab a goodie bag, stuffed today with an assortment of low-cost, high-fun educational trinkets?.-A Times columnist Joel Stein wrote a great piece yesterday on how kids today fail at one of their primary jobs: offending their parents. The whip-smart Mr. Stein suggests, quite rightly I think, that kids today haven’t managed to come up with anything shocking enough to send their codger parents retreating to a mature safe zone. He also includes a few quotes from me on how the kids of rejuvenile parents often simply don’t have any need to offend their parents; they’re too busy having fun together.
-ernie De Koven, that reclusive Jedi knight of the rejuvenile world, has a great Podcast in which he monologues about the meaning of fun and games. Most recently, he posted a terrific audio essay on “deeply played games,” which he defines as high-profile, popular games that function as theatrical events and sources for life lessons as much as competitive events. My favorite line comes from a bit about American football: ?It’s the brash, energetic, puppy-like play of a young culture, a game of total engagement, barely kept within the bounds of play. It’s highly organized, thinly disguised play fighting.?
-nother day, another viral kickball video. ?Alive and Kicking? is a funny short about one man’s induction to the world of high-stakes adult kickball. In a sort of amateur kickball answer to “Dodgeball: A Ture Underdog Story,” the movie includes a championship match against a team of cut-throat rivals and a grizzled old kickball vet. Thanks, Scorekeeper, for the link!

The highly entertaining food blog Slashfood has a nice post today about so-called ?retro foods? ? citing familiar examples like gourmet cupcakes and mac-and-cheese, but also pointing out that many adults now happily and unapologetically snack on Hello Kitty Pop-tarts or chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs.

It’s true that eating often unlocks long-buried childhood sensations. Abba Zabba, candy-covered almonds, alphabet — single taste can unleash all sorts of eerie and sometimes quite wonderful sense memories. My own list is endless, but in honor of my daughter Eliza, who is doing “C week” in kindergarten school right now, here a few of my favorite “C” rejuvenile foods:

??Cap—n Crunch cereal - eaten by boxful at friends? houses, ripping up roof of mouth and causing intense sugar rush, all the better for watching Saturday morning cartoons.-orn — yellow mustard, preferably accompanied by a root beer float from A&W.
??Carob chips - only “sweet” permitted in my crunchy-granola household. -orned beef — may have looked like dog food plopping out of the can, but it was pure heaven prepared by my grandma Betty, fried up in a pan and layered with thin reddish bits of crust.
??C — nouveau fancy red velvet and green tea cupcakes are nice, but let us not forget the glory of a junky supermarket cupcake.

We all could probably come up with a substantial menu of favorite retro foods. What’s perhpas surprising, tho, is that so many of us are now not merely reminiscing; we’re reclaiming and reinventing these foods as adult fare. The upscale restaurant Campanile here in L.A. does an successful grilled cheese night on Thursdays; young professionals in Bloomington, Indiana feast on 30 varieties of cereal and gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the new Cereal Barn and Peanut Butter Caf?; and the lines continue to stretch outside gourmet cupcake bakeries like Magnolia in N.Y and Sprinkles in L.A….

One statistic from the book still surprises me: half of the people who attend Disneyworld, Disneyland and the other Disney parks are adults without children. Half!

How do I know this? The notoriously uncooperative Disney publicity juggernaut declined to discuss park attendance with me, and independent trade data on park attendance is hard to come by. So I turned to a reliable, if unusual, source: a Fodor’s guidebook to Disneyworld written specifically for adults and apparently assembled with the cooperation of Disney.

Still, it’s hard to wrap one’s mind around the idea that half the people milling around the shadow of Cinderella’s castle are adults with nary a kid in tow. Even if you factor in those teeming masses of teenagers who qualify as “adults” (defined as any guest over 18).

A travel reporter for USA Today recently told me that Disney officials privately dispute the statistic quoted in the book, putting the percentage closer to a quarter. But they still haven’t released any concrete numbers, so as far as I’m concerned it’s still an open question.

I was at Disneyland over the weekend, and I made it a point to sit and watch the crowd go — ‘s no doubt that adults outnumber kids by far. There was no way to tell how many of these adults had come with kids, but it was clear from their wide-eyed expressions and the way they charged through the crowds that the vast majority of these grown-ups were happily giving themselves over to the Disney magic.

Pictured are snapshots of two pairs of adult Disney fans who I particularly enjoyed, spanning the cultural spectrum from cutting-edge urban hipsters to frumpy M — apart culturally, but joined in the common love of the land of Uncle Walt.

I had a nice long chat last week with a true power couple in rejuvenile circles, Kim & Jason Kotecki. Once upon a time, Jason was a struggling cartoonist in Madison, Wisconsin who, in an attempt to woo his kindergarten-teacher girlfriend Kim, drew a strip picturing them as wisecracking kids (thus echoing the origin story of Uglydolls, the phenomenally successful line of rejuvenile dolls that began as doodles created by art student David Hovarth for his girlfriend Sun Min). Today, the Kim & Jason strip is syndicated across the country and Jason is a successful speaker on what he calls ?adultitis,? that nasty blend of stress, burnout and habitual thinking commonly confused with “maturity.” Kim is now full-time advocate in the burgeoning Kim & Jason cottage — addition to public appearances, they collaborate on books, comics, e-cards, podcasts and an online store packed with such goodies as rubber duckies, ice cream-scented bath salts and T-shirts printed with the slogan “Adulthood Stinks.”

Their online “Lemonade Stand” also carries artwork and books created by the pair, including a sort of prescriptive answer to Rejuvenile, Escape Adulthood: Eight Secrets from Childhood for the Stressed-Out Grown Up. For an even more user-friendly how-to manual, check out their Escape Plan, a collection of 40 specific exercises designed to “help you safely and effectively treat adultitis.” Feeling a touch of adultitis? Try “drawing a funny picture and hiding it in an unexpected place for someone else to find.” Grumpy and overburdened? Drop everything and “eat or drink something that brings back childhood memories.” (Two words: Swedish fish).

I only wish I’d known about Kim & Jason while researching my — ‘re models for the sort of productive, conscientious adults who’ve made a childlike sense of play and wonder a top adult priority (and indeed an entire business model). And they’ve smartly avoided the na’ve trap of celebrating childhood as a single-ingredient recipe for — appreciate the importance of responsibility and a strong work ethic. But that doesn’t mean they also can’t enjoy the occasional water fight or superhero movie.

The Podcast on which I appear includes some discussion of our shared hatred of Bratz dolls and the glories of the Easy-Bake Oven Gourmet cookbook. I have ambitions to implement the Escape Plan myself and will keep you updated on how that goes?

Open wide for this heaping portion of briefs, quickies, and other stray crumbs of rejuvenile-flavored goodness?

? The New York Times weighed in on adult kickball on Friday in a feature that included some beard-pulling commentary from me and a good discussion of the growing rift between those who play to win and those who relish in the game’s ridiculousness. Pullquote put it best: ?A manifestation of the breakdown of traditional age — just a chance to drink or flirt??

? The Come Out and Play Festival is set for this weekend in New York; anyone remotely nearby should hightail it to Gotham and get busy. Billed as “three days of play, talks and celebration focused on new types of games and play,” the event is the work of genius game designers with a passion for so-called “big games” ” web-enabled participatory pastimes so involved and creative they make scavenger hunts look like tic-tac-toe. Think of it this way: when will you ever get another chance again to play a game of urban minigolf that uses cabbies, pedestrians and buildings as obstacles in a 1000-par course” Descriptions and signups for many more cool big games here.
-e forewarned. NPR’s “Marketplace” aired a commentary from me today, but this one is different from ones I’ve done previously in three major respects: 1) Topic has nothing to do with the — you consider the CEO who shelled out $20 million this week for a spot on a rocket ship rejuvenile, 2) It’s a back-and-forth exchange with another commentator, the lovely and amazing Ruthie Ellenson, and, most importantly, 3) It features my truly horrifying impersonation of a Russian cosmonaut singing Madonna’s “Lucky Star.”
-heck out this amazing clip of a daredevil on a Flybar, the grown-up pogo stick described in the book’s section on extreme sports. I’m told by Flybar honcho Dave Jargowsky that the clip has stirred up a ton of interest in his — for it on “the Tonight Show” this fall?

? More cool video here of highly athletic rejuvenile tomfoolery ? Bossball mixes volleyball, football and gymnastics in a game played on a court strewn with inflatable pads and trampolines. Just as the Flybar is an amped-up improvement on the pogo, Bossball looks like volleyball played by those superhero monks in kung fu movies who sail through the air as if gravity was a law made to be broken. Thanks to reader boldergeizd for the link.

A vivid example of the rejuvenile meme in its most exhibitionist form: Party Scammers Productions is a L.A. party production crew that’s making a stir in LA hipster circles hosting exaggerated, kitschy kiddie events.

The most blatant of which was undoubtedly ?Your Eight Year Old Birthday Party? in which guests crammed the baroque Sunset Boulveard mariachi club El Cid to relive their own childhood nuptials surrounded by balloons, streamers, punch bowls and activities like Cage Match Thumb Wrestling, the Robot Jumper and the Pinata Gauntlet.

Party Scammers also jumped on the rock paper scissor bandwagon last year with a RPS Rumble and hosted a geek-fest extrordinaire known as Clash of the TETRIS in which guests played an all-night Tetris tournament accompanied by live bands and screaming onlookers.

The avant-nerds behind Party Scammers have also produced a few rejuvenile video shorts. Check out Gerald the Birthday Boy if you think you might get a chuckle out of watching a lumbering twentysomething dressed in baby clothes spaz out in a toy shop. Another video showcases their talents at getting dressed up in wild thrift store getups and tossing milkshakes in the faces of strangers (accomplices?).

I’ve yet to attend a Party Scammer event, but I’m eager to see these folks live in person. Seems to me like just the sort of ironic kitsch-fest that has a way of becoming a part of a normal everyday adult routine over the long haul. Remember Kurt Vonnegut’s sage advice in Mother Night: be careful what you pretend to be?

Toyification describes how everyday adult stuff is getting less utilitarian and more toy-like. In the book’s chapter on toys, I look at how cars, computers, cell phones and even vacuum cleaners are now designed, marketed and used more as playthings than tools of productivity.

Florida designer Nick Dominguez has a nice post applying this idea to web and graphic design. The look and feel of many new brands and logos, he writes, is “overwhelmingly toylike or Fisher Pricey.” Examples of toyification in web design include big bubbly buttons, big text and bold colors and gradients.

You can see the phenomenon in all its bright and cheery glory scanning this portfolio of recently redesigned logos for firms selling everything from insurance to mobile phone service. Businesslike, dignified, subdued, muted tones and shapes have been replaced by an open, friendly and chunky — , most of these designs look swiped straight from the romper room. The pictured logo for photo sharing company Tabblo even comes complete with a smiley face. Bright and cheery blues and oranges dominate other designs, with lime green jokingly called the “official color of Web 2.0.”

Can’t wait for the new Lehman Brothers logo with the star-eyed unicorn floating over the rainbow waterfall…

I’m an admirer but hardly an expert in graphics, so this is all new and unfamilar territory for me; anyone else besides Mr. Dominguez notice a shift toward the toylike?